I thought I was safe this time, I really did. None of the usual warning signs were there. This once, just once, I would be able to have a bus ride in peace…
Honestly, I should have known when he walked on, hawking gospel cd’s, that I had not escaped the long arm of the Lord.
Every time I have to go into Kingston, the yellow government bus I’m on is transformed into a traveling church by some enterprising evangelical on a Mission.
The first time it happened, the driver switched off the radio 10 minutes into the route, and launched into an impromtu sermon. Usually though, it’s a passenger, some enlightened soul who’s been called to ride from bus to bus, spreading the good word.
Now, I’m a big believer in religious freedom, specifically, in my freedom from other people’s religion being imposed on me, especially in confined public spaces. As a confirmed agnostic and suspected atheist, you can imagine my amusement/horror when it became clear to me that instead of ignoring the person, my fellow passengers get really into it. This is unfortunate, because it just encourages more public bus-preaching.
These encounters all follow a familiar pattern: Usually you can spot the enlightened one. Sometimes, they are little old ladies dressed in white, but usually, they are men. Young men, old men, nattily dressed in button downs and slacks and really shiny shoes. What sets them apart from their peers is that they are sweaty. Because if you aren’t elevating your heart rate by working yourself into a near-hysteria, you’re not really doing God’s work.
Once the bus has pulled out and the captive audience has settled in, a lone voice will pipe up, asking the “bothers and sisters for a moment of your time, just a moment, to tell you about the awesome power of Jesus Christ” (it is never ‘just a moment’, but then again, this a country where “soon come” is the unofficial national motto). No one in the bus ever says anything at this point, or even turns their heads, and each time, I begin to hope that THIS time, just this once, my co-passengers will ignore this dude, and we can ride the bus in peace and quiet. That would be a miracle I could really get behind.
Never is this the case (proving, to my mind, that there is no God), and the self-appointed apostle begins his sales pitch, yesterday’s followed the script to the letter.
The Sinner, as he was in his former life, lead a wicked, wicked life brothers and sisters, a wicked life! Gambling, rum drinking, other, unspecified sins that I’m sure we can all guess at, human beings being pretty much the same the world over, especially the sinning ones.
So the sinner is going on sinning sinfully, and then the Something happens. The something always happens, and in this case, our Sinner was shot, and he saw The Light. How, exactly, this was possible when the bullet left him blind is what I want to know, I of little-to-no faith, but everyone else seems to take this in stride. It is at this point, that his voice starts to get louder, and the speeach becomes increasingly peppered with “clap if you love Jesus”s. The audience is still unresponsive, but he plows on, getting louder, and the louder he gets, and the more insistently he demands that we declare our love for the Saviour, the other bus passengers begin to get into it. A few claps for Christ here and there, and when he starts singing hymns, more join in, which just eggs him on to louder, more ferverant hights.
By now, his speech has hit the self-sustaining cadence peculiar to Pentecostals, Baptists, and bad slam poets, with a convicted vibrato that would need a sub-woofer to do it justice.
A raging headache has settled in for the long haul, encouraged by the women behind me who have “caught the spirit”.
I don’t know if you’ve ever witnessed anyone “catching the spirit”, but it seems to only happen to women here, and they must do it as earsplittingly and implausibly as possible. To my cynical mind, it sounds remarkably like – well, something being faked, let’s leave it at that.
Right, so. Sobbing, screaming women. Man positively vibrating with the power of salvation- and then, something truly wonderful happens.
His cell phone rings!
And he answers it!
Really now. I’m not pulling your leg. Drops the preacher voice and answers the phone.
“Waguaan? Nah man, mi good, listen, mi haffi call yuh back cuz mi a minister right now, likkle more, y’hear?”
And goes right back extolling away like nothing happened. Couldn’t make this up if I tried, and at that moment, I’m trying really hard not to laugh out loud at the whole ridiculous situation and how seriously everyone else is taking it.
The white arches of the Halfway Tree bus park finally loom ahead, which of course is the cue for our pastor to collect change from his flock, so that he can board another bus and start the whole thing over again, while I disembark and immediately try to assess just how soon it is socially acceptable for a strong alcoholic beverage.
